Lake Baikal, Wreathed and Majestic

Posted on 23 October 2014

There is a shock to your system that comes from seeing natural wonders. Maybe you know it. Your chest constricts in a good, excited way. You grin. You can’t tear your gaze away. It’s as if your eyes know that this is something extra special, and they need to lock on as long as they can, soak everything in before you’re gone again. And even when you do return, the feeling is the same. Some things are, happily, hard to get used to.

It was our “rest day,” though it turned out to be more adventurous than restful. No matter! After breakfast we gathered our day packs and began the two-hour hike to the electrichka train station. We were going to the shores of Lake Baikal and thus were in quite high spirits. Once we reached the station, many of us whipped out and turned on our phones to take advantage of having cell reception and to let others know that, after a week of no contact in the Siberian woods, we were alive and thriving. Once on the train, Anya peered over at me and stated, “we’re becoming people again, not champignony.” We had readily adopted the moniker champignony for ourselves—a play on the English word champion through the Russian word for mushrooms—and it fit. We were dirty, persistent little mushrooms leaving the forest for the modern world, even if this world was only indicated to us by the use of cell service and the presence of non-campers on the train.

But the wild is always there, once you realize, nor does it ever quite disappear. As we approached our destination, we were able to catch glimpses of Lake Baikal out of the leftside window of the train. Everyone turned their heads. It’s near impossible not to. Even though I had already visited the lake, I felt a thrilling rush.


Kultuk from Above Old Russian Car Lake Baikal Shore


The train stopped and we disembarked on a hill above the town of Kultuk, on the southwest corner of the lake. Immediately we were swallowed by a grand landscape. Us, on the hill. Wildflowers lining the path, leading the way down. The village, waiting at the bottom. And the lake, a glorious base for it all, with threadlike clouds drifting in the sky above, mountains peering through across the way. We excitedly rushed down the slope, our speeds varying by the amount of photos we couldn’t help but stop and take.

We made for the shores of the lake. Some of us started preparing our lunchtime snack, but others of us donned our swimming suits and joltingly eased ourselves into the lake’s frigid grasp. We squealed and splashed around, but after a few minutes our discomfort ceased and we excitedly reveled in the fact that we were, very actually, swimming in Lake Baikal, the world’s oldest and deepest freshwater lake containing some of the clearest water. And more than that, you can sense its majesty, its pull. It’s very rare that I’m so excited about swimming.

After drying and snacking, we set off to hike along the now disused Circum-Baikal Railway. The only train that runs these days is a cute tourist train. We clambered over the tracks on foot, taking uneven too-long or too-short strides to step from one tie to another. The railway rose until we were elevated just above the lake to our right and surrounded by the plethora of wildflowers. Don’t let anyone tell you that Siberia is just a cold place. It can be, but it is more. The yellow, purple, blue flowers shivered under the sun; the railway stretched out before and behind; the lake spread out below, elegant, clear, and a perfect hue of blue.


Clouds over Lake Baikal



Abandoned Railway Station, Lake Baikal Circum-Baikal Railway



We simply walked along the railway, passing the occasional house framed by birches and one abandoned train station. We passed through several tunnels beside the tracks—not for trains but instead to manage meltwater from the snow, which could produce landslides. We picked some flowers. We sat at a picnic table and had a snack and played a game before walking onward. Eventually we reached the village of Staraya Angosolka, some ten kilometers from Kultuk. There, we had a short break, spreading out below the small village church and on a dock protruding from the shore. Hopes for more snacks were dashed when we learned the village’s grocery store—and cultural museum—had, unfortunately, burned down about a year before. Left was a banya, a campsite, the church, and houses scattered around. To get to the electrichka stop, one closer than where we had disembarked, we had to hike some more: through a beautiful birch forest, up a tiresome hill, and there we were.

While we waited for the train with tired legs, Elizabeth pulled out her music player and, sharing earbuds, we sang along to the shuffle. I hadn’t listened to music for a week. It sounded even grander after its absence, so once we boarded the electrichka I pulled out my phone and listened to Beirut as we pulled further away from Lake Baikal.


Circum-Baikal Railway Panorama


It wasn’t until 11:30pm that we arrived at camp for dinner, our journey lengthened by the dark and by missing the first turn off to camp, oops. We were allowed some extra hours to sleep in the next morning before work, and we all gratefully wobbled into our sleeping bags after our full day of walking over 15 miles.

Just walking. Traipsing along amid the wildflowers, the path reaching out in front and behind. The big world around. The birches looking down. The wisps of clouds floating by. Just looking. The mystical lake, placid beside you, quickening the heart. It’s places like these that lock on and remind the world how wondrous it can be. Don’t pass them by; let them take hold.


Lake Baikal BridgeBirches by Lake BaikalDock on Lake Baikal

Boggy Roots Hold Tight

Posted on 18 October 2014

Mornings came early. We reluctantly emerged from our sleeping bags, quickly trying to replicate their warmth by pulling on jackets and hats. Then, unzipping the tent and brushing against the dew, we emerged into the chilly Siberian day, still a shadowy grey under the trees. Warm kasha, porridge, of some variety waited for us in a big bucket under the green kitchen area tarp, along with bread, cheese, jam, and meat slices for the non-vegetarians. I fumbled with the instant coffee and topped its bitterness off with an overly generous helping of sgushyenka, sweetened condensed milk, my favorite. My thermos kept this gloopy beverage a little too warm a little too long, and by the end I was gulping it as to not be late.

The bleariness surrounding breakfast time evaporated soon enough, and it was another day on the Great Baikal Trail.

Great Baikal Trail Flag Vityaz from Below

Sunscreen on (you can get sunburned in Siberia, you know), bug spray on (the mosquitos are enormous and tick-borne encephalitis isn’t something to scoff at), damp hiking shoes or boots on, bandana on, gloves in the pockets—ready. With varying levels of tardiness, we rushed to make a circle where we celebrated the “person of yesterday” with hugs. Then off we were already, tramping through the campground, around the cliff Vityaz, through the woods, and to the bog, where we were constructing a trail through the squishy muck and the beautiful, already turning golden in August birches.

Doesn’t sound fun? I’ll forgive you for thinking so based on this description so far. And I’ll concede that camping in the Siberian wilds for two weeks might not be everyone’s cup of tea, or in my case, coffee. But, I—often unreasonably squeamish and not a fan of dirt—I had the time of my life. There are a few places that reach into my chest and tug, and the area surrounding Lake Baikal has weaseled its way onto the list.

Masha Chopping Wood Tanya and Zhenya Carrying Wood

So, yes, we tugged up the wet top layer of the marshy ground, splattering ourselves with mud when our pickaxes caught and whipped up a chunk of wet grass. It took around five of us to finagle firmly rooted tree stumps out of the earth. We developed blisters on our thumbs from repetitive bark scraping while evilly eager ants attacked and enormous mosquitos buzzed around. Our boots filled with mud as we sank into the ground.

But we laughed and laughed, becoming exceedingly more silly by the day. We sneakily hunted for little gifts for our secret friends. We played “who am I?” in an amusing mix of Russian and English. The clever Yulia guessed “werewolf” after only two questions; we figured each other out quickly as our personalities bloomed and settled into their spots on the crowded bench. And we sang a lot, with varying levels of talent, but with lots of gusto and no embarrassment. We belted out the Beatles and the Sound of Music and Russian folk songs. So work wasn’t really as much work as going through the admittedly tough motions with a crew of jolly friends. And it was interspersed with tea and candy breaks, as you do.


Thanks, Masha, for the video!


After our morning three hours of work we plodded back to camp for lunch. And after lunch we changed into bathing suits and jumped in the frigid stream to temporarily rid ourselves of the mud splatters and for an actually needed cool down. Saner people than I limited themselves to one or two dips in before drying off in the sun.

We had an afternoon break, during which we could do productive things such as laundry or journaling, but more often than not I got wrapped up in equally productive games. Productive, I say, because I drew my friends closer and, yes, remembered my ere-faded Russian.

Before we could quite register the time passing by, it was time to work again. We would do another three hours before dinner at 7:30pm or so. Ravenous after, we would scarf down our soup and then queue up for the bucket shower or, better yet, banya. Three of us would enter the steamy room, sit and sweat, and then rinse with our buckets. Happily we had the option of stove heated water before the cold night descended, but I’m crazy and chose the cold water. Then, refreshed, we were ready for an evening of sitting around the fire and singing some more before trundling off to our tents around midnight.

GBT Campsite Tea by the Campfire

I curled up in my beloved sleeping bag and got not quite enough sleep (but no matter!) before the next busy and glorious day. There was no need for internet to while away the time. The two weeks flashed by. I felt like it was a long time because new friends felt like old ones quite rapidly; I felt like it was no time because I didn’t want it to end so quickly and it did. So, you see, these days camping and trail building in Siberia were anything but boring. And they were nothing but beautiful (okay, sans the huge mosquitos). I sit here listening to ДДТ, a staple band of our campfire songs, and look forward to whenever it is that I am able to go back and do another project with some of the best people there are.

I laughed when I told people I was off to camp in Siberia for two weeks. I still laugh because it sounds crazy. But the craziest things are often the most amazing. They root themselves in your chest and stick tight and are part of you, holding you up.

Volunteering Abroad: How to Make Sure You’re Actually Helping

Posted on 14 October 2014

Atop Vityaz


Volunteering abroad can be a wonderful experience –you get to travel and do some good for the world at the same time. Win/win, right? Unfortunately, not always.

I’ve learned this lesson through experience on three different continents; I have completed volunteer internships in Peru and Kenya and I just returned home from a project near Lake Baikal in Russia. All of these experiences taught me something, but some volunteer projects are more effective than others.

As an international volunteer, you may be doing less good than you think – or worse, even causing harm. International development is fraught with complexity that is still debated even among experts on some points. However, there are guidelines that you can follow when choosing a volunteer project in order to make sure that your efforts are well spent and that you’re giving as well as getting from the experience.

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An Adventure Words Barely Touch

Posted on 30 September 2014

An admission: I was reluctant to write about my time in Siberia. My words aren’t good enough to encompass the experience. I’m more accustomed to internal drama, to melancholy; I have those words. But this project in its shimmering, impossibly stress free gauze—it is beyond me.

An admission: It is slipping away. Though glittering flecks of it all stubbornly remain latched on to my behaviors, gradually I shed them off. I can’t help it. That’s life. Ordinary days take over again; I have things to do; I should focus on the now, anyway. But I still reach behind. Ah, there’s the melancholy.

It didn’t exactly look promising, but I already knew it would be just fine. The electrichka train doors slammed shut, with half of us still attempting to stumble down the steep stairs onto the gravel embankment of the stop. Shouts! They let us off into the drizzle, soon to be rain.

But I knew it would be just fine. See, on the electrichka, our very dear, ever positive, sweet, wonderful translator Anya immediately rounded us up for some games. Take as many pieces of toilet paper as you’ll use today! Haha, you now must say that many facts about yourself! As we went round introducing ourselves, I was mostly filled with a blooming curiosity. Even the obligatory drunk didn’t bother me. “Anya! Anya!” Slava wanted to play, too. After the games were done, he treated us to an operatic tune, a capella. Lauren, in Russia for the first time, sat by him, shaking with laughter. Welcome to rural Russia, where the friendly drunks serenade you. It’s not an anomaly. It’s an acceptable fact of life.


Another Russian Suitor for Lauren

Another Russian guy providing Lauren with entertainment.


The rain methodically pattered down. We soldiered through the muddy path, winding our way around large puddle after another. Despite the chill I began to sweat under my raincoat — why are they so stuffy? — and my legs tired from carrying the extra weight of my backpack. But already the songs began pressing themselves out of our mouths and I found myself joining in, belting out a Russian song I didn’t at all know. Molotsi, molotsi.

We crossed a bog, squelching abundantly. Later we would solve the problem of this muddy crossing by building a trail over it. And then, after clambering around a rock face, clumsy with our packs—there was our camp. We dumped our belongings in the two yurts on site, spreading things out to dry, lighting fires in the stoves. And now, for more games! Under a slightly leaky shelter, the roof beating a rhythm of raindrops, we learned shaman chants, tangled ourselves up, and played this is what I like about you/this is what I hate about you, oh but now you have to kiss/bite those parts, surprise! All of this tumbled by in an interesting Russian-English mishmash. And somehow, these bizarre activities, among adults no less, were entirely natural and fun.


GBT Dinner Inside


It was raining too hard to set up our tents, let alone our campfire, so it was inside eating for just the beginning. All eighteen of us— five Americans, the rest Russians — crammed into the small kitchen, around the smaller table. Already quite close, we chowed down on what would be staples: soup, macaroni, bread, (too much) candy. And, in the darkening room, sang some more.

I didn’t quite know if would be just fine that night, though, entering the yurt. Which leaked. Nine of us crammed in and the fire blazed. I lay on top of my new, already precious sleeping bag, and realized that even if I protected it from the ceiling drips, it would get my sweat all over it anyway. Well.

Early the next day the wonders really began. Anxious to be out of the sweltering yurt, I woke early and went out with Elizabeth who was on duty to prepare food for the day. I dressed for rain, for I could still hear water outside the yurt, but peering through the door, I realized my mistake. The only precipitation in the air was mist; what I heard was the roaring, lovely river we were situated by.


Yurt Door at the Campsite


This day, our project duties truly began. We were able to set up our tents, which I had longed for very much over the course of the muggy night. And we began work: first, gathering firewood and hauling it back to camp. Natasha, our tough and great leader, cleared the way with her beloved chainsaw, creating the beginnings of a path we would soon build. And we, trailing behind, clambered through the squishy moss, gathering as many branches as our arms could bear and, muddying our raincoats, hugged them to our chests as we tramped back to our blossoming camp.

It was certainly going to be just fine! After obyed, late lunch, we girls started off some more goofiness. What does a horse say in Russian? Iiiii go-go! I kid you not. My torso ached more from laughing than from lugging branches around. After awhile, we switched to learning potentially more productive things, making Russian-English drawings for the parts of trees and types of flora and fauna around.

And then for our hike, since I suppose we were easing into our working days—normally, we would work both morning and afternoon. But it was good to see the sites we were supporting with our trail building, namely, the shapely cliffs of the Olkhinskoye Plateau. I lagged behind the others, eagerly taking photos of birch trees. There’s something about northern forests — the moss, the pines, and of course the birches— not too imposing but elegant enough, that’s very comforting.

We reached one of the cliffs, Idol, and scrambled around, taking photos of each other, all together. Then we headed for another rocky outcrop, where we were able to stare down a cliff over the sea of greenery below. Siberia! Our sense of adventure was piqued, for when we turned around and walked back by Idol, a brave handful of us clambered up a rock face (I needed help getting down; it wasn’t the easiest) and faced Idol from a new, dizzying height. Again, the green stretched out under us. This vast earth. Siberia.


Baby Tree and Idol


Others collected mushrooms while I only collected blisters, unperturbed, it was certainly going to be just fine. That night we had mushroom soup. Our instigator of silly activities, Anya, had enlisted Rachele and I to perform some songs, and perform we did. For two weeks, I belted out tunes without a care. By the way, I’m not a great singer.

To top it off, we got to use the banya that evening. It wasn’t until midnight, under the overwhelmingly starry Siberian sky, that I zipped myself into my sleeping bag. This was only the first full day on project coming to a close. There was more mud and joy yet to sink into.

An admission: Volunteering with Great Baikal Trail was, honestly, probably one of the better things I’ve done. By the end of the second day I had written in my journal, I love this. The following sentences in my journal: There are so many good people and the nature is wonderful and I just feel pretty carefree and not anxious. Like whatever is fine, and I’m thinking about now, not the future.

An admission: Now, I am thinking about the future. I am thinking about going back.

Don’t Be Daunted: On Hitchhiking

Posted on 25 September 2014

It all started when the bus didn’t stop. All through the 90 minute ride, I stared out the window at the unfamiliar landscape, prepared to signal my desire to disembark when we turned off the highway. Proud of myself for recognizing the spot based solely on Google Maps research, I stood up. But the bus driver ignored me, even after I asked him to please stop, and drove on. Way on. By the next stop, I was too far from my destination to walk.

I was determined to visit Lahemaa National Park, about an hour’s drive from the capital, Tallinn. I particularly wanted to visit Viru Bog, which looked beautiful from the photos I had scoured through online. The problem is Lahemaa National Park isn’t the most straightforward place to visit for fiercely independent budget travelers like me. Renting a car was too expensive. Joining a tour meant thwarting my aspirations to wander alone in the woods. There are self-guided bike tours, which, while probably enjoyable, were also out of my price range. After consulting the internet and a host in another town, I decided to attempt taking the bus, which was supposed to stop near the trailhead and should come by in the afternoon for the trip back to Tallinn. Clearly, no such luck.

But here’s the catch: one thing my travels have taught me is not to fret. Something will work out. Walking back in the direction I had come, I stuck out my thumb.

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Path into Viru Bog

I’m A Stranger, Which Makes Me Free

Posted on 15 September 2014

Two overnight flights in a row: over the Atlantic, over Russia. Eagerness overrode any exhaustion—at first—but then it all began to drag into a tunnel of grey, vibrating time when Siberia Airlines’ idea of a veggie wrap was served in the form of a blob of mayonnaise garnished with cole slaw, tucked away inside of a tortilla. And that was in fact, the most edible vegetarian airplane food from then on.

But no matter, shaking away hunger and, more pressingly, thirst, cloaked in a sheer veneer of tiredness, which I at times had to swat away from in front of my face but mostly ignored, we landed at the small Irkutsk airport and walked into the arms of friends—at this point, my friend’s friends. I blundered with my heavy backpack, which was soon to be shouldered not by me but by the man among us, as they do, and began drowning in the foreign sounds and sights that enveloped us as we emerged into the sunny morning.

Tree by Lake Baikal

But, I suppose, drowning isn’t it. I’m submerged, not always able to function normally, really just drifting along on the current, but there’s no panic, no flailing, no “look at me! Help! Get me out of this water!” I simply watch and attempt to listen as my sluggish, poor sleep-deprived brain scrambles through the detritus of four years past to unearth the Russian that lays buried. I flinch every time I mutter también instead of тоже. I mostly watch the others and try to force myself to understand what I don’t, through sheer force of concentration, which helps sometimes, but still. And sometimes I don’t even try but look around instead.

Following, following. Dropping off my laptop at the Great Baikal Trail office—I won’t be needing that for two weeks. Dropping our bags off at the hostel. And quickly, quickly, off to Listvyanka to see Lake Baikal. I’m finally here, I need to see it, and the plans generously form around what is best for me, the new one in town. Following my friends to the market—finally, edible food! Mushroom pies! Ice cream! (in the cold places, they very much love their ice cream and I stand behind this sentiment.)—following them to the marshrutka, the minibus, that will take us to Listvyanka, an hour away. And we’re speeding down the road, my back to the driver, some sort of oil leaking over the floor, mushroom pie crumbling into my lap but mostly my eager, parched mouth.

Birch trees fly by as we crest hills and descend over and over. I’m in Asia, I tell myself. I’m in Siberia. The mystery is here. I’m somewhere, to me, that is wholly new. And I just float along: no discomfort, no worry, just watching it all fly by.

Boat on Lake Baikal


Lake Baikal. Even those who have seen it before can’t help but widely grin. We can barely make out the shadowy mountains across the water. If you squint hard enough, they materialize. If you listen hard enough, you understand. If you spend your energy trying, instead of fighting, the new and real, you’ll serenely coast along and absorb it all into your consciousness, your flesh. We wandered on the stony shores, through the fish market, gathering food—fish for them, berries for us all, raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries, like bitter grapes. We sat on the shore, smiling, eyes narrowed against the sun, my skin rapidly reddening, why yes, I got a tan in Siberia.

Fish Market, Listvyanka

Let’s ride in a boat! Dima says. It’ll be fun! He says. I expected something calm, a placid glide over the clear water, but no, this is Russia and everything jarringly collides, it’s idiosyncratic, because suddenly we are bouncing over waves, jerking back and forth on a speedboat as it figure eights, spray everywhere, and we’re screaming and laughing in the borderlands of glee and fright. The sun beats down, the air shimmers, the water shines even more. I’m in Siberia! I’m on Lake Baikal! I laugh and let the boat toss me around, head back, face open, everything pouring in, for Lake Baikal is all-encompassing, it carries its own feeling.

To Guide Boats, Lake Baikal

Another idiosyncrasy of mine: at this point, I don’t care if I don’t understand everything. I don’t get bothered when I don’t comprehend a language as it floats around me. I don’t care if I don’t know what I’m doing, just caught up in the glide of my hosts, or rather new friends. I, ever in need of control at home, shaking, clenching, nails scraping my palms, my thighs—I need it, see, it’s my home, my place—let this pressure slip off, like a heavy black cloak onto an entry hall floor and I hold up my arms, shrug my shoulders, and confidently step into a place that is not mine, never mine, and I am free.

We’ll Tell All – About Sunrise And About Sunset

Posted on 10 September 2014

Flower, Pinecone, Mushroom, Siberia

I am sitting at home, a novelty indeed after five weeks which brought me from southeastern Siberia to Finland. It is now that I can sort through and edit my photos, regain some sleep reserves that I was lacking, revert to usual communications, and, so importantly, mentally process all that I have done.

A fair amount happened in my small corner of the internet while I was largely ignoring it, or, as was the case for two weeks while in Siberia, unable to access it. While I was in the taiga camping, trail building, and having an amazing time with Great Baikal Trail, I was Freshly Pressed. As a result, I have loads of new followers who, if I am to be presumptuous, may want to hear a bit more about the person behind this blog.

Coincidentally, while I was away, I was also kindly nominated by the sweet and funny collegelady17 for two blogging awards: the One Lovely Blog Award and the Very Inspiring Blogger Award. Well, it’s nice to be considered lovely and inspiring – thank you! Here I am to accept these awards and follow and break the rules as I see fit. You can tell from a quick google that I edited the rules to be, in my opinion, a bit less pressuring.


The Rules

  1. Thank and link to the amazing person who nominated you.
  2. List the rules and display the award.
  3. Share seven facts about yourself.
  4. Nominate 15 other amazing blogs.

Seven Facts

  1. I have an excellent Gollum impression. This has been verified by many people, who I have proudly frightened.
  2. Speaking of Gollum – nerd alert! I love love love Tolkien and also Harry Potter. It would be embarrassing if I felt like being embarrassed, but honestly I’m just a bit proud.
  3. Despite that a high proportion of friends and family, and also my partner, are in various medical professions, I’m terribly squeamish. As in, reading about anatomy can make me feel disturbed. Nope, don’t like!
  4. I obsess over music, but do something quite interesting with it. When I get really hooked on a song, I add it to a special playlist. At the end of the year (or the semester, when I was still in school), I have a list of songs that I got into, in chronological order. I love going back and listening to those playlists. Most recent song of this type: ДДТ – Просвистела.
  5. I love love love sauna. Every time I do it, I love it more. And as far as Finnish things go, I also discovered last week that I enjoy “mushrooming,” as we began calling hunting for mushrooms in English.
  6. One of my biggest hates is street harassment. I rarely participate in internet fights, but when I do, it is often about this.
  7. I’m not a tropical beach person. Or a tropical person, really. Though I’ll happily travel basically anywhere, I much prefer temperate or cold climates. And I like cold beaches more than hot ones!
Curonian Spit Beach, Lithuania

This is me, happily taking a corny jumping photo on a cold beach (the Curonian Spit in Lithuania).

Recommended Blogs

Here’s where I’ll simply list some blogs that I especially enjoy reading and basically always check out when a new post shows up on my reader. Consider this a blogroll. I’m not going to pressure anyone to accept this award and do a post though, though (it’s a chain award after all, and maybe not appealing to everyone). So, bloggers I like, feel free to do with this as you want, but know I enjoy your blogs! And to the bloggers I know personally – I miss you!

And now I give up with the disclaimer that there are actually a lot of probably great blogs I found before I left on my trip – but I haven’t been able to keep up with them yet since I haven’t been online much! Without question I’ve overlooked some blogs I quite enjoy, but you know, next time.

So. I leave you with these facts while the person behind them attempts to readjust to daily life at home. And starts purging clothes and other belongs in order to be lighter. And begins the job hunt. And, of course, creates new posts about her recent and incredible Siberian, Baltic, and Finnish adventures for your eyes and mind.

(Small note: post title is from the Просвистела lyrics.)

It’s Not For An Audience

Posted on 2 September 2014

Viru Raba Panorama

When you’re galloping forward, it’s hard to stop. And when I say stop, I don’t mean pause and take in the world around you, because that’s precisely what you’ve been doing as you consume every sight, sound, smell, taste, nuance, history, and present you can, constantly. No, I mean stop and step away from the moment. I mean plug in. I mean stop living your story and momentarily halt to tell it to others, or even to yourself.

Perhaps I’m a post-travel blogger. What can I say right now other than that I have seen and learned so much already? I have met wonderful people. I have stayed in their homes and ridden in their cars. I have always found a place to sleep. I have spoken multiple languages. I have been surrounded by good people, and I have been utterly alone with the trees and the sundews and the little frogs and the blueberries and the boggy water.

Right now, I don’t feel like conveying much. I’m still moving. Once this trip is over in a week, once I have slowed down, once I have properly processed everything that is calmly clamoring in my brain – I’ll tell. But right now I’m living. I don’t need to proclaim this fact for others to hear. I state it to myself simply, quietly: I’m alive.

Lessons Learned From Camping In Siberia

Posted on 22 August 2014

Our little camp in southeastern Siberia truly began to feel like a home, like the place I should be. My sleeping bag was a great bed; I was untroubled by camping night after night for two weeks. I didn’t need an inside anymore. I was out in the world, and with a group of truly great people, at that. And if you watch the world, and listen to it, you can learn some things.

Here is an assortment of what camping in Siberia taught me.

1. Life can be busy – and not boring – sans technology
The camp had no internet, no cell phone reception, and even no electricity (unless a generator was turned on). And I was busy! I honestly found it hard to find the time to do activities such as write in my journal because between working, eating, socializing, cleaning, and sleeping, there was little left. Technology can be a time suck, and, at times, an unnecessary one. I was able to perfectly entertain myself with people, a forest, and the tasks at hand. Internet and the like can be great, but they can also pull us away from the people who are present, by us.

GBT Campfire

2. Man – and technology – is everywhere
We didn’t entirely escape technology though. These days, it is quite all-encompassing. The night sky over us was beautiful. One night, some of us pulled our sleeping bags over to a rock on the river to watch the stars for a while, undisturbed by artificial lights. I saw six shooting stars. And I saw for the first time, quite noticeably, sputniki, or satellites. They moved slowly across the sky, one there, one there, circling us from above. It was remarkable to think that our presence stretches so far.

Siberian Pinecones

3. Manual forest labor has its benefits
We slogged through a bog, we scraped bark off dead trees, and we tried and tried and finally succeeded to fell these dead trees before debarking them. Mosquitos larger than I have ever seen swarmed around, but even worse were the vicious little ants that would reach up to attack if your hand merely swept high above them. Sound fun? Maybe fun isn’t exactly the right word, but it wasn’t unfun either.

Beyond the physical benefits of this work/exercise, there are some social and environmental benefits as well. Of course, this type of work – selectively felling trees, often dead, the only fossil fuel powered tool a chainsaw – has a much smaller environmental footprint than bulldozing a trail and using mass-produced timber to build pathways would. But this work also makes you understand the power of the forest, and perhaps, therefore, respect it more. It took us, a team of eighteen, three days to fell an already dead tree. It took additional days to shred off the bark. And unearthing a tree stump is no easy task. One dead tree part can put up a battle against five people. Maybe we should give trees more of their due respect.

GBT Trail Through the Bog

4. Some people are really great
So, honestly, I can feel pretty down about people. I’m not one who looks on the brighter side when it comes to humanity. But the people I was with in the camp, for the very most part, were great. They were incredibly nice, they were funny, they were generous, they were caring. We could be increasingly goofy (whether this was caused by the isolation or the overconsumption of sweets, I don’t know) and it was all fine, everything goes, you’re taken in with a smile. I know these people are out there now, for sure.

Anya & Liza

5. Yourself is the one to be
And I mean that down to every last bit. You are still you without make-up and covered in specks of bog mud. Don’t worry so much about what you look like. Do whatever is comfortable at the time based on your own feelings, not others’. Be as goofy or as serious as you wish. Drop the self-consciousness because it is a barrier to you, that’s all. The right people won’t leave your side.

On Top of Vityaz

Truly, I’m still absorbing this all. But I can say this for sure: I learned a lot. I was filled with wonder. I want to do it again.

Ogol, Olkhinskoye Plateau

Look At It Sideways: Coping With Pre-Departure Anxiety

Posted on 7 August 2014

Lifting Weights at the Train Graveyard
“How excited are you for your trip?” my boyfriend asked.
“Moderately,” I said, “I still have to pack.”

Moderately. I’m about to embark on a should-be amazing trip to Lake Baikal, the Baltic countries, and my dear Finland. Why wouldn’t I be excited? Alas, although I’m an experienced traveller, the pre-departure anxieties still cling tightly.

I’m an incredibly anxious person. Even going to the grocery store down the street stresses me out, and I waste away in anticipation of the hour when I’ll need to force myself to leave. And driving? Please, please, don’t suggest that I drive somewhere new, or to a place with scarce parking. There’s a good chance I’ll be teary by the end of the struggle—if I’ve even been forced into the car.

How is it that I’m able to travel, to throw my nervous self into random places with languages I do not know, unsure of exactly where I’ll sleep the next night? Travel has taught me a lot about living with anxiety, and indeed, has strengthened me in my daily life. I know I need to keep at it.

By the process of hurling myself into the unknown again and again, I have developed an intimate knowledge of pre-departure anxiety and how to live with it.

Though anxiety can’t easily be banished and left to fade in the dark corners of your brain (it grows there, you see), it’s possible to prevent it from running roughshod all over your mind and ruining the bright anticipation of your travels during a period of time that often lasts longer than the trip itself. Here are some tips from an anxious girl.

Read the full article here.


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